


La Roi est Mort, Vive la Roi

by CynicalModerate



Series: Effects & Consequences of a New God [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: 6x22, Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-14
Updated: 2011-07-14
Packaged: 2017-10-21 09:08:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,526
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/223487
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CynicalModerate/pseuds/CynicalModerate
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He helped the new God of Creation ascend to power. Now Crowley reflects on the new order of the cosmos and copes with his new predicament in the only way he knows how. Post-6x22.</p>
            </blockquote>





	La Roi est Mort, Vive la Roi

**Author's Note:**

> A sort of a companion piece to "Something to Believe In", though not really connected. It was an attempted drabble that got away from me and became this.

_"Destiny: A tyrant's authority for crime and a fool's excuse for failure." ~ Ambrose Bierce_

Crowley stumbled into the bar in a blink of an eye, righting himself immediately and strolling out from the little hall that led to the bathrooms as if he had just been in there. He was woefully overdressed in his suit, but it made him feel dignified to be in such a squalled place and grace it with his presence.

He winced at the word, scowling for a second before replacing it with a leisurely smile.

 _Grace._

It was mere hours ago that the world had changed, the balance of power – if there had ever been one – had shifted completely to a new side. Purgatory was emptied of its Souls, consumed and fueling an angel that had no inkling or concept of what Power truly was. He was a beast now, an angel no more, a God among the rest of the insects of Creation.

Despite the terrifying realization of it all, Crowley smiled all the more, a barely noticeable tick that pulled the corners of his mouth upward from a bored to a bitter one.

He walked up to the bar after quick glance around, noticing that he was the only patron of the establishment, settling into a stool and producing a small silver flask from his coat pocket. As he unscrewed the lid and raised it to his lips, knuckles rapped the table in front of him and made him stop short.

"Hey buddy, no outside drinks."

Crowley looked at the man and gauged his age to be around his early 30s, lean and hard under his white t-shirt and green apron, dark curls cropped close to the scalp and amber brown eyes cautious. The demon raised an eyebrow in question, assessing.

"You got Craig?" he asked lightly.

"No."

Crowley smirked and toasted the man. "Then sod off, ponce," he said, taking a large swig.

The bartender bristled, jaw setting and nostrils flaring slightly at the insult and crossing his arms across his broad chest. Crowley sighed and set the flask down, snatching up the little placard on the bar and raking his eyes over the crudely printed words before tossing it down.

"Since you are such a cutie," he began, a lewd smile playing on his lips as he saw the man start suddenly, "and I have no desire to get into a fight at the moment, I'll try your…" Crowley's eyes darted to the menu again and his lip curled slightly, "'World Famous Hot Wings' – oh  _God_ , I've fallen this far…?"

The bartender caught the demon's eyes and he frowned, nodding slightly and turning away to carry out the order. Crowley's eyes drifted down his backside for a brief second before he quickly rapped his knuckles on the bar like the man had moments ago.

"Oy, bring me a thing of Jack Daniels and Johnnie Walker – I'm feeling generous tonight."

Swill, both of them, but he was chasing a buzz and maybe something more. Anything would do right now.

Castiel would come for him, he knew. There was no way he wouldn't, this new God. He regretted everything now, the deal and partnership – especially the last one with Raphael. That scored him no brownie points with the new Supreme Deity.

He took another swig of his flask and ignored the dirty look the bartender gave him.

He felt…

The demon frowned, disliking the emotions that bumped heads inside him. He felt gypped, betrayed, insulted by the angel's actions. He had been willing to carry out his part of the deal, split the Souls 50-50 and then part ways, leaving the angel to sort out his lot in Heaven.

He had, hadn't he?

The demon mentally shrugged and sunk down on his elbows, resting his cheek against the palm of his hand. He didn't know anymore, everything had gone to utter shit so quickly he couldn't remember what he was going to do with their partnership once Purgatory had been opened. He'd had such plans, such grand plans, and now they were undone because of a feathery-ass son of bitch with a messianic complex.

Crowley knew Castiel was God now because he'd heard the proclamation even though he'd been far away at the time. Creation itself had shuddered at the words when the angel had spoken, making everything with a supernatural heritage cower slightly at something they didn't understand yet. But Crowley knew, he'd heard and understood, and for the first time in a long time he could admit he was  _terrified_.

Truly and utterly terrified.

Once, the demons had their Hell and the angels their Heavens, the battle ground in between. There was no fear of a reprisal from God – THE God, the Creator – because it was known He didn't care enough to handle things Himself, despite the babble of the humans and the blind devotion of His messengers. But now that was over, this new God, this once-angel with the Power of millions upon millions of Souls at His disposal, He wouldn't be content to regulate His rule to the creatures He once called brothers. He wouldn't passively sit by and watch the world unravel as children battled for souls and faith. There was no place that was safe – Heaven, Hell, Earth, Castiel would tear the fabric of reality apart to have what He wanted and then remake it again in His own image.

The whiskey was poured in front of him and Crowley downed it immediately in an attempt to placate the bartender, his face twisting in a grimace at the poor taste. Swill, just like he said. Pig-piss utter swill.

He couldn't run any more. Well, he could and he would – it was what he'd been doing since he fled the all-powerful angel and abandoned Raphael to his fate. But inside he knew it would do no good – Castiel would find him and use him for whatever plans He had, or He would simply obliterate the demon.

The bartender returned once again and placed the plate of wings before the demon, who muttered a thanks and picked up the messy finger-food, tearing apart one and letting his imagination turn it into the limb of the angel who'd betrayed him. The sauce smeared his fingers like blood, the taste of meat and spice dancing on his tongue and mixing with the alcohol that lingered there.

Crowley's brow raised in surprise and he nodded approvingly. "These are pretty good," he commented to the bartender, who was watching him with a confused expression. "I wouldn't say 'World Famous' quality, but pretty damn good…"

He devoured the first three within two minutes then settled himself to savour the remaining three, staring at his reflection across from him as he ate and letting his mind drift.

Did the Winchesters survive their encounter with the new God? Would the 'profound bond' that Castiel had gone on about be enough to spare the brothers from the capricious deity? Crowley admitted to himself that he didn't know. He didn't know much anymore. He did suppose if the boys survived and Castiel didn't find him first, then the Winchesters would. Somehow they would turn all this mess into his fault.

For the first time, Crowley began to wonder about Fate, about Destiny, if these abstract guidelines had really been killed or made obsolete when the Apocalypse had been averted. Maybe everything he'd done, double-crossed Lucifer and Hell, helped the Winchesters find Death, turned Castiel on to Purgatory and its arsenal of Souls, maybe it all had been decided for him. Maybe he'd failed because he was supposed to fail…

He smirked and pushed the thought away, biting into another wing. What did it matter anymore? The King of Hell couldn't stand up to the new King of Creation.

The old King is dead, long live the King.

There'd be no deal with Castiel now. The angel – God, he reminded himself – didn't need deals or partnerships anymore. Reality and all its laws would bend to His will.

And he, Crowley, King of the Crossroads and of Hell, was just along for the ride.

Just like the rest of the world.

Thunder rumbled in the distance, making the demon tense and fear prickle along his shoulders. The new God was flexing His wings, he knew, giving a foretaste of His omnipotence. He looked at the bartender and smiled, seeing the apprehension in the lean form, the fear and confusion in the man's eyes that he didn't understand. Even they, the blind and ignorant humans, could sense the change. Instinctual, a throwback to their evolutionary past that warned them of dangers unseen.

"The world's changing," said Crowley casually, taking a drink from his flask and watching the man's attention fix on him. "New management, new rules. You guys are in for a hell of a ride. But the real question is this…"

Crowley leaned in, smiling widely as he winked.

"When do you get off?"

The demon frowned when the guy didn't catch the double entendre. Later, when the demon had him pinned to the wall in the alley behind the bar, he explained it to him.


End file.
